The Nabob's Wife
by Tarlea
Summary: Set approximately 100 years before canon, [I hope this will be] a series of stories about Lady Edith Strallan and her husband, Sir Anthony (whose romance and courtship you can read in The Bluestocking) in the tradition of Georgette Heyer and other Regency romances. Chapter 1 is a bridge story between The Bluestocking and my STEAMM Day 2014 fic, The Coquette.


**A/N: This story picks up there **_**The Bluestocking**_** left off. Edith and Anthony have just returned from their honeymoon in Italy and are staying for some time in their London house before returning to Locksley. This particular installment acts as somewhat of a bridge between **_**The Bluestocking**_** and my upcoming STEAMM fic, **_**The Coquette**_**. All laud to Georgette Heyer, whose excellent works inspired these stories.**

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**In Which the Nabob and His Wife Gain An Unexpected Acquaintance**

A gentle knock sounded on the interior door of Edith Strallan's dressing room.

"Come in," she answered, her eyes on the mirror in front of her as her maid Anna put the finishing touches on her hair.

The new Lady Strallan's critical look soon changed to an amused grin as she watched the reflection of her husband, bending his tall figure to get through the discreet door which led from their shared bedchamber.

"Good morning, my dear," he said smilingly, kissing her outstretched hand, and with a glance at Anna, leaning in to plant a more ardent kiss on the nape of his wife's neck.

Anna simply chuckled and said "Careful, Sir, you'll muss all my fine work,"

Edith joined in the merriment. "She's right, you know. Now sit down and tell me what this invasion is about."

He did as he was bid, lowering himself onto a flowered chaise as Anna exited and closed the door behind her.

"I've just been looking over the post," he commented in a somewhat wearied manner. "That's the nuisance of a trip abroad—you come back to a veritable mountain of correspondence. And far too many bills," he grumbled lightly.

"Yes, but it was worth all the nuisance," Edith said warmly, exchanging a speaking gaze with her husband.

"Most definitely," he replied in kind. "I left the cards on your desk. My sister would like us to dine with her as soon as we are settled in, and I think you ought to have a look at _this_ one right now," he said, extending a letter to her, "It's from your aunt."

Edith took the packet and looked down to see Lady Painswick's carefully written direction, underneath which was added the word "urgent."

Edith broke the seal and read. "She wants us to dine with her tomorrow night. She says it's important—Mary and Sybil will be there too."

"Hmmm," he raised his eyebrows. "Well, it must be important if she's going to intrude on our first few evenings at home," he commented.

"But at least we have today. Do you know, I do believe you are looking a trifle run down, Lady Edith."

Her eyes matched the sparkle in his as she raised them in look of mock worry.

"Do you? Well, perhaps the fault lies with my sleeping patterns. They have been shockingly disrupted of late," she punctuated this with a squeeze of her lover's hand. "But as you were always such a careful arbiter of my health, I daresay you have a recommendation as to how best I may restore my vigor."

"A healthy dose of fresh air after breakfast is what I prescribe," he announced authoritatively.

And so after breakfast, Edith swiftly changed into her riding clothes, complete with a green velvet poke bonnet piled with shimmering folds of amaranthine ribbon and trimmed with fine Burano lace which Edith had purchased in the Venice markets.

When she reached the foyer, Linn informed her that Sir Anthony was waiting without in the curricle. Edith thanked him, looking forward to a thrilling flight behind Sir Anthony's beautiful bays, Boreas and Zephyrus. But instead of hastening to climb into her husband's spanking carriage, when the front door closed behind her she came to a halt on the top step, and with a shuddering gasp uttered, "Oh Anthony."

Her bright eyes took in every detail of the handsome equipage before her, from its vibrant red body with yellow and black facings, to the two exquisite creatures harnessed to pull it—both gleaming white in the sunlight and perfectly matched. Perhaps the sweetest part of the picture was the Strallan family crest emblazoned on the side, and its second son perched within, enjoying her reaction with equal delight and affection.

"Well now, my dear bas bleu, will this suit? I strove to have it made exactly to your specifications."

"It's perfect," Edith breathed, remembering the time, not very long ago, when she had wished for a Grecian red curricle with white horses. She also remembered the second part of her ambition—that her husband should teach her to drive it. Grinning, she climbed up beside him, tucking her arm around his limp one as the other deftly flicked the whip. The horses responded with zeal, as if eager to impress their new mistress.

"Two such fine specimens must not go unchristened," Sir Anthony said as they made their way through London's busy streets, turning more than a few heads as they did so. The ignorant among the onlookers were quickly acquainted with the details of the Nabob Sir Anthony Strallan's recent marriage and informed of the identity of the stylish young woman at his side.

"Very true," Edith said thoughtfully, studying the pair as her mind shuffled through suggestions.

"I should like something to signify fleet-footedness for one," she said after many minutes consideration. "Have you any suggestions?"

"Pegasus?" he offered with a crooked grin.

She wrinkled her nose. "I was hoping for something less obvious. Plus, there are an overabundance of-" she caught his jesting look and stopped. "I see you were only funning. You know me well enough to know that I should prefer something far more original than that."

"Indeed, I am extremely well acquainted with your _tastes_ my dear," he remarked drily, feigning innocence as he dashed off this shocking double entendre.

She blushed appreciatively though glancing about her to ensure no one else had heard. "Don't be vulgar, my love," she teased. Then she lapsed again into thoughtful silence.

By the time London's cobbled streets and sidewalks had given way to the dirt and grass of the countryside, many appellations had been put forth and rejected. Anthony was about to suspend the christening so they might get on to the driving lesson, when Edith exclaimed,

"I have it! 'Alato!'"

He nodded his approval. "It has a nice ring to it. 'Winged,' indeed."

Edith reached forward and patted the horse in front of her. "Alato," she said triumphantly.

"And the other?" Anthony prompted, one hand easing the horses past a dog-cart.

"I am exhausted by thinking of names. I shall let you name him."

He examined the proud head before him.

"I should think 'Sidere' would suit very well."

"It is striking, but I'm afraid I do not know its meaning," she said.

"It means 'starlight.'"

"Oh I like it very much! Alato and Sidere," she pronounced.

The task of naming completed, Sir Anthony turned off of the main road and passed the reigns to his wife. With careful coaching and several unladylike expressions, Edith learned how to gauge the momentum of the curricle, how to feel her horses mouths at the end of her reigns, and how to keep her hands and commands light but firm.

"You've got to work _with_ your horses, not against 'em," Sir Anthony told her.

"I had flattered myself I _could_ work with _a_ horse," said Edith, flushed and slightly cross, "but I've never faced such odds before!"

He chuckled. "I _have_ rather thrown you in, starting you with a pair. But never fear, you'll be a first rate fiddler in no time."

Sir Anthony himself was worthy of that title, but as the exercise of imparting that skill to his wife was beginning to show, he also qualified for the title of a Job, gently correcting and calming his wife, petting her when she achieved a proper command and joking good-naturedly at her failures. Despite her frustrations, Edith was enjoying herself, and she knew she could not have wished for a more devoted or tender instructor.

She was just getting the hang of turning the curricle about, when the couple decided to stop the lesson and seek out lunch. Edith retuned the reigns to her teacher, who knew of a nearby inn that served a tolerable luncheon. They were trotting along through a shady lane, when all of a sudden a gangly figure emerged from the trees and blocked their path. One long arm leveled a pistol at them and an anxious voice shouted "Stand and deliver!"

Anthony reigned in the horses, and for a few moments none of the three parties spoke.

At length, Sir Anthony said, gently but firmly, "Put down that barking iron, lad, before you hurt yourself."

Then he calmly climbed down out of the curricle, handing the reigns to a stunned Edith. The criminal was equally nonplussed, waggling his weapon insistently and sputtering,

"Don't you try to humbug me, sir! Your purse!"

"I have no intention of humbugging anyone. Now don't be so bacon-brained. Put the gun down." Anthony repeated, inching closer to the brigand. Below the brim of a wide straw hat he saw two apprehensive eyes.

"I won't!" the lad persisted, vainly trying to regain control of the situation. "Now for the last time, empty your pockets!"

Anthony continued to scrutinize his attacker. His clothes marked him a cut above a common laborer, and his demeanor, while rustic, bore some marks of refinement and proper bearing.

"I'm afraid I must refuse. And I must ask you to behave a deal more civilized in front of my wife."

This seemed to momentarily halt the thief, but he shook off whatever pangs he was feeling and said, in a voice that was trying hard to be menacing,

"I'm giving the orders around here, so-so-hand over the lowrie or I'll-I'll-pop you!"

"I'll do no such thing," Sir Anthony replied, raising himself up to his full height and looking his adversary squarely in the eyes. "Now if you want to play the part of a Gentleman's Master, understand me when I say that if you persist in threatening my wife, I will not hesitate to see you thoroughly 'dumbfounded,' 'buckled,' and sent to the nearest 'sponging-house.' Do I make myself clear?" The baronet's voice was dangerously low and deceptively calm. The highwayman's wide eyes widened further, and nervousness was replaced by a very real fear.

"Sir, consider your situation!" he choked frantically, his pistol arm beginning to quake slightly, "I could shoot you! I could shoot you right where you stand!"

"But you won't, will you?" Edith challenged, sounding far more confident than she was. The lean figured jumped at her voice and panicked eyes darted to her face. "Not when you're holding up a baronet and his wife in broad daylight a mere six miles from Bow Street."

"Now put down that damned stick," Anthony said, with exasperation, "and I'll see if I can't find in it me to spare you from ending up a tenant at Newgate."

The mention of the infamous Bow Street and Newgate hit home, and the quivering arm dropped.

"Good man," Sir Anthony commended. "Now, as you've been abominably rude to me and Her Ladyship, I'll thank you for an apology."

The would-be thief blinked and mumbled an apology. Edith relaxed the clenching grip she had on the reigns, and her heart began making its descent from where it had leapt into her throat.

"And I'll have that, pistol, if you please."

This item was meekly handed over. For several moments Sir Anthony silently examined this antiquated but well-kept piece, while its owner waited nervously. Edith was slightly less anxious. Then, much to her surprise, Sir Anthony handed it back to the young man.

"What's your name?" Sir Anthony asked of their unexpected acquaintance.

"William," the boy mumbled, now cowed and respectful.

"Well William, if you'll take off that ridiculous handkerchief and promise to behave yourself, you can join Her Ladyship and I for luncheon and make a full explanation of your actions."

The lad hesitated. "You're—you're not going to have me hobbled?"

"That remains to be seen," Edith replied, catching the gist of this utterance.

"At any rate," Sir Anthony pointed out, "in this light I can give a fairly tolerable description of you to the magistrate so you might as well lift the veil."

With a sigh, William shoved the pistol into his belt and quickly removed the handkerchief. Despite his distress, he had a pleasant, easy countenance, and an unassuming handsomeness. Edith judged him to be about seventeen.

"Well then," Anthony said as he climbed into the curricle once more, "come along, William."

As they made their way to the inn, Edith kept a careful eye on their fellow traveler. She couldn't resist whispering to her husband,

"Dearest, are you certain you know what you're about?"

He gave her a mischievous grin in response. "My dear wife, it's almost as though you don't trust me."

"You know I do, you rogue," Edith replied affectionately, but she was still uneasy.

Within minutes the innyard came in sight. As the carriage came to a halt, two grooms came hurrying out to meet them, and hot on their heels, came the proprietor himself. Sir Anthony bestowed upon this worthy a fond smile and climbed down to shake his hand.

"Bates, I'm very glad to see you in such health. I hope you have a good luncheon prepared for today, as it will be Lady Edith's first time in your most excellent establishment."

With that he turned and gave Edith his good hand, who climbed down and came to meet this smiling but staunch-looking innkeeper.

"Bates, I'd like to present my wife, Lady Edith Strallan."

Bates bowed civilly and grinned back at the pair of them.

"I heard you was back from India and got yourself yoked," he addressed Anthony, "but I own I didn't expect it to be such a beautiful young woman as this," he said merrily, winking at Edith.

She was slightly taken aback at his familiarity, but he was such a good-natured fellow she found that she couldn't be affronted.

"You'll have to forgive Bates, my dear. I've known him since he was in the nursery," Sir Anthony explained cheerfully.

"Indeed he has your ladyship, or else I'd have no call to speak so," the innkeeper pronounced apologetically. "Though I've not seen him these ten years at least. Whatever's happened to your arm, my lord?"

"Took a bullet in the wrong place," Sir Anthony said dismissively. "We'll be requiring a private room, if you please, Bates, and luncheon for my wife and I and our guest."

Bates looked beyond the baronet to greet this guest, but all he saw was William standing awkwardly and surveying this reunion through wary eyes. The innkeeper's own eyes narrowed.

"William, what are you about? Mr. Thorne will have your hide if you're caught dawdling here. I'd get myself back to the house and be quick about it if I were you."

"William is to be our guest, Bates," Sir Anthony remarked, enjoying the surprise on his old friend's face. "I should guess that he won't take wine with us, so you'd best bring some of your prized cider as well."

Bates processed the situation for a moment, not missing the large pistol tucked into William's belt.

"Very well, your lordship," he finally said, in a voice that could not entirely hide his shock and disapproval. "If you will follow me…"

XXX

It was not long before even Edith had quite warmed to their unusual lunch-guest. The hearty repast did a great deal to calm her ruffled nerves, and the young man seemed uninclined to threaten them anew. Amid bites of chicken pudding and gulps of cider, he informed them that he worked as a footman at one of the local manor houses, had a way with horses, and had even taught himself to read and play the piano. They were also given a contrite explanation for his criminal behavior on the road.

It seemed that William was the son of a widowed farmer, and quite besotted with the daughter of a local merchant, named Daisy.

"The trouble of it is, Daisy's mum doesn't think I'm good enough, and so she won't even consider the match," he explained despairingly.

"I see," Edith said soliticiously. "And what of Daisy? Does she return your affections?"

"She does, m'am. She gave me her pledge. We were going to wait until we were of age, only her mum's planning to marry her to Mr. Henry by Michaelmas." His face was a perfect misery.

"And who, pray, is Mr. Henry?" Sir Anthony asked, amusement threatening to break through his somber façade.

"He's the old widower who lives at Rowe House. A gentleman, to be sure, but he's old enough to be her father! He's keen on her cooking, see? She's quite the cook, my Daisy."

"So you could not wait." Edith concluded. "Were you going to elope?"

He nodded.

"And the purpose of the armed robbery was?" She asked.

He coloured. "I needed money for the journey. I never intended to hurt anyone, honest."

"I think you will find my dear, that we were never in any danger," Sir Anthony contributed. "The gun was never loaded."

Edith looked at them both in shock and relief. "Not loaded?!" Then she rounded on her husband. "Well, Sir Anthony, I wonder just _when_ you were planning to apprise me of that fact!"

"Forgive me, my dear. But you must know I would never put you in any danger," he said guiltily.

"I'm sorry milady, I didn't—that is, I wasn't planning on—" William tried, grief-stricken.

"No, my lad, you did not plan. Or think, for that matter," Anthony scolded. "Holding up a curricle in broad daylight! What if I'd had a pistol under my seat and shot you? As it stands, I'd be well within my rights to report you to the magistrate—and your Daisy wouldn't thank you for either."

William said nothing, but ruefully sipped his cider.

"Never mind that, now," Edith said kindly. "I forgive you both. But the question is, what is to be done?"

"While I've a good mind to box him round the ears, I don't think there is any need to alert the magistrate," Sir Anthony said.

"Oh no, I don't mean about that. Of course we're not going to report him," Edith brushed this aside, "I mean about Daisy's mother. How can we convince her to consent to the match?"

Sir Anthony looked at his wife's determined expression. It was none of their business what happened to this unfortunate lad, and certainly none to pry into the affairs of Mrs. Robinson, who surely had her reasons for forbidding the match. But he certainly liked the boy, and he knew when Edith had set her mind on something there was no changing it. So he sighed and said,

"How indeed?"

After some discussion, it was decided that Sir Anthony would write a letter to Mrs. Robinson, recommending the match. He called for pen, paper, and ink and set to this task immediately, while Edith and William passed the time with a backgammon board.

When he had sufficiently informed Mrs. Robinson that His Lordship, Sir Anthony Strallan, Bart., looked upon the match with a most favorable eye, he folded and sealed this missive, delivering it into William's anxious hands.

"I've told her that I've had some dealings with your father—which I daresay is probably true. Luckily for you I had an uncle living in this county with whom I was used to spend several weeks a year."

"There," said Edith, nodding approvingly. "That should do the trick, and if it doesn't, then come to me in London and _I'll_ lend you the money for your elopement."

Once again my lord fixed his wife with an expression of disbelief.

"My dear, have you any idea what such an elopement would cost?"

"Well, no," she admitted, "but, you must see that one way or the other they must marry. Arranged matches are a thing I cannot like at all, as you well know. And only think how happy they should be!"

She raised a conciliatory hand to him. He frowned down at her for a few moments, thinking how lovely she looked sitting there with a fire in her eyes. He broke into a laugh.

"Very well, my sweet one," he said warmly, taking her outstretched hand and kissing it.

Half an hour later the Strallans were climbing once again into the fine curricle to make their way back to town. William went with them, as his employer lived in that direction. When they had bid their young companion adieu and turned back onto the London Road, Edith remarked.

"Well, that was an unexpected diversion. It's a pity my driving lessons could not continue. I flatter myself I was not doing too shabbily."

He smirked lovingly at her.

"Oh I agree. I would say you are a natural when it comes to maneuvering."

She laughed. "Oh my dear, I hope you are not too vexed with me."

He turned to her his eyes shining with affection.

"My darling, that is a thing I could never be," he asserted, and leaned over to kiss his wife. Any observer might well have praised his technique—for as he performed his amorous task, his hand kept a firm hold on the reigns, and his pace neither slackened nor his horses stirred. Yet there was more to be admired than his whip-hand. He was clearly showing himself to be an expert inamorato, and from her reaction, it was clear that his wife would be the first to attest to it.

XXX

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Regency Expressions Used in the Chapter and Their Meanings:

Poke Bonnet: a women's bonnet in the shape of a hood, featuring a projecting rim on the front side, which would shade the face of the wearer. This is the typical Victorian style bonnet that you often think of/see, and at the time this story is set, was beginning to feature a taller crown much like that of a gentleman's hat of the time. Accordingly, it is so-called because one could "poke" one's hair up into it.

Burano Lace: Burano is an island in the Venetian Lagoon. The tradition of crafting delicate handmade lace goes all the way back to the 16th century.

Curricle: stylish and speedy (in the right hands it could reach speeds of 16mph!), the curricle was a two-wheeled carriage which required skill and perfectly matched horses to drive. There were recreational models and racing models; Edith's would be more on the recreational side, and formed for beauty rather than speed.

Bas Bleu: French for "bluestocking;" in fashionable sets a sometimes derogatory term for an intellectual woman

Nabob: ("nay-bob") a very rich man, especially one who acquired his fortune in India. From the Hindustani word "nawab," term for a ruler in the Mogul Empire.

A first-rate fiddler: an excellent driver, a capital whip, one who can handle the ribbons (reigns) extremely well

Barking Iron: pistol

Humbug: to deceive or confuse

Bacon-brained: foolish or stupid, one of my favorite expressions of the period, along with 'goosecap' meaning a silly person

Lowrie: (theives' cant) money

Pop: (thieves cant) shoot; to pop someone = to shoot them

Gentleman's Master: a highway robber, because he makes a gentleman obey his commands, i.e-stand and deliver.

Dumfounded: (thieves' cant) soundly beaten; similar to "silenced"; in that one would be beaten so badly that he could not speak. Another fun expression in the same vein is the threat to "make you sing 'o be joyful' out of the other side of your mouth," meaning to punch you in the jaw quite soundly.

Buckled: (thieves' cant) put in handcuffs, called "buckles" or "bucklers" (also called "barnacles," "clinkers," "darbies," and "sheriff's bracelets")

Sponging-House: (thieves' cant) a by-prison

Bow Street: a street in London with an infamous criminal court; in the 18th century a force of arresting officers was established to bring in those charged and serve writs, known as "the Bow Street Runners," the bane of all theives' existence

Stick: pistol

Newgate: the main prison in London, attached to the Old Bailey, where public executions took place

Hobbled: taken up, or in custody; arrested

Yoked: married

Inamorato: a male lover, from the Italian "innamorare" which means to inflame with love

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**A/N the Second: What is Rosamund's urgent summons all about? You'll have to wait until STEAMM Day, September 14, to find out, when I publish **_**The Coquette**_**! **


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